


Nothing to Wear

by BadBadBucky



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash, the boys are trying really hard to understand each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 13:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadBadBucky/pseuds/BadBadBucky
Summary: Vince has absolutely nothing to wear. Howard finally understands why that is such a big deal.“Why were you crying?”Well that’s the bloody question of the hour wasn’t it? He’d already given the short answer. The long answer was very long, frequently embarrassing, and made him feel very silly and shallow. But Howard is listening. Really listening. So he decides to try and explain.“Have you ever seen me leave the house without my outfit, accessories, makeup, and hair being perfect?”Surely there was a time where Vince had run down to the corner store for 2am sweets without a full face on. Surely there had been a time when they’d been abducted by a monster before Vince had time to coordinate his accessories with his outfit? But he can’t think of a single one.“No. I don’t think I have.”





	Nothing to Wear

**Author's Note:**

> My first Boosh fic! And my first fanfic in a very long time. Thank you so much to all of the amazing writers in the Boosh fandom for inspiring me.

Howard was sitting in his room about to cross that beautiful threshold into a jazz trance when there was a large thump on the wall that caused his Weeble Wobble Watkins LP to skip. Howard had heard this specific thump enough times to know it was the thump of a golden sparkly toed boot hitting the wall, it had a very different resonance than when a white platform or red pump hit the wall. He growls in annoyance. Now he was going to have to start the whole process over. He walks over to reset the needle, trying not to let himself drift to far from sweet jazz oblivion, but when he lifts the needle he hears sobbing coming from Vince’s “closet room”. 

They had discovered an extra bedroom after living in the flat for a year. Howard had been a little sad to be losing Vince as his roommate, they hadn’t slept in separate rooms since the Zoo. But the sadness soon turned into annoyance because somehow Naboo had come to the decision (or more likely Vince had wheedled and annoyed him until he agreed) that Vince deserved one and a half rooms. He could keep his wardrobe and sewing machine and vanity in one room and sleep with Howard in Howard’s room. Or as Vince called it “Our room.” 

It’s not like Vince to cry. Usually once he throws the boot his snit is over and he can go about his general sunshine business. 

The last time Vince had cried it was because he’d broken the heel on his favorite platforms, not his favorite shoes, mind you, not his favorite boots even, but his favorite _ platforms. _ He’d cradled it in his arms like it was a dying child. Whispering how sorry he was. When he’d seen Howard lingering in the doorway he’d tried so hard to stop, knowing Howard would think it was stupid. Which Howard did. But in an amazing moment of _ savoir faire _he hadn’t said anything. Just hugged Vince and told him they could go get new ones tomorrow. But Vince said he wasn’t ready. Like the boots were a beloved pet he’d had to put to sleep and he wasn’t ready to go to the shelter. Even Howard was able to acknowledge to himself that he’d done well that day and he often used it as a template for interactions with Vince moving forward. He’d been able to circumvent a couple tiffs that could have turned into major fights by asking himself what he would have done on that day. When he hadn’t belittled Vince. When he had tried to solve the problem but he hadn’t gotten angry at Vince when Vince said the problem couldn’t be solved.

Howard is eager to take another large step forward in his and Vince’s relationship. They’d had a long talk after his disastrous birthday party and even more disastrous time in Denmark, but the trust between them had been whittled down to almost nil for a long time and so they were taking things slow. Through tremendous effort, and a recognition of that mutual effort, they had repaired much of the damage. 

Xxx

Vince sits on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees. Tears have run his mascara and eyeliner. Not his going out makeup, _ thank God, _just his house eyeliner, but still not helping the situation. He is surrounded by his entire wardrobe. Piled into gigantic mountains. Every single item. He’d even snuck into their room while Howard was out and stolen the few non-atrocious things Howard owned. Just in case they gave him some inspiration. Or could serve as a bottom layer. Or if he needed to do some deconstruction and needed to practice before he did it on one of his own precious garments. Or maybe he just liked seeing Howard’s things amongst his own. 

In any case he had found no inspiration. He had somewhere to go but he wasn’t all dressed up. He was still in his silk kimono and bright pink y-fronts. Nothing was _ right. _

There’s a knock at the door. 

“Wot is it?” He calls, hating how pitiful his voice sounds.

“Little Man? Are you alright?” 

Usually the sound of Howard’s “I’m trying very hard to be sensitive” voice was enough to put a big fat grin on his face but tonight it doesn’t even tug the corners of his mouth. 

Vince rapidly wipes his face off with one of Howard’s shirts. He blows out a few rapid breaths, psyching himself up, letting the sunshine in. He had always felt Age of Aquarius had been written for him because that’s what he did. He let the sunshine in. Though he could never remember what his star sign was. Sometimes Naboo would make cryptic assertions about his and Howard’s behavior because Jupiter was retro. Vince thought was was well cool. A retro planet. Where everyone listens to Bowie and dresses mod. Imagine that! 

There. Now he’s smiling. “I’m fine!” He winces, he overshot it with the enthusiasm.

“Can I come in?” 

“Can it wait a minute? I’m naked!”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Well fuck. That stymied Vince. Last week he had gotten an hour and a half lecture on the history of modesty entitled _ To The Puritans and Beyond _ because he’d gone into the bathroom to wee while Howard was in the shower. There had been a powerpoint presentation. Vince had never regretted anything as much as he’d regretted getting Howard a cheap digital projector for his birthday. He’d just been so sick of the overhead projector. He had a hard enough time reading something typed without having to deal with Howard’s scrawly writing. 

“What about the puritans?” Vince asked.

“Well the puritans issue special dispensations for circumstances such as these. You know. Someone has a heart attack in the shower. A brisk naked dip in the lake in mid-winter turns deadly. That sort of thing.”

Maybe Vince smiles a little bit. “And this qualifies does it?”

“If I see a puritan I’ll ask.”

“I saw a puritan last week. Buckle shoes are well in right now, he was browsin’ at Topshop for a new pair. “

“Vince. Can I come in?”

Vince sighs. Wipes his face a few more times on Howard’s shirt, hides it under Mt. Scarf, and says “Alright. I’m decent.”

Howard has to really put his back into it to shift Machu Poncho and get the door open. 

“Alright. What’s the problem?” Howard asks as he scales Mount Ever-vest. 

Shocked into telling the truth by Howard asking such a direct question Vince again bursts into tears. “Ain’t it obvious?” He sobs. “I ain’t got nuffin’ to wear.” 

Xxx

Oh dear. It’s a fashion thing. He needs to tread lightly here. Fashion is a hair trigger for Vince’s nasty side. Every time he jokingly mocked Vince’s outfit or makeup routine or hair, Vince responded by going for the jugular. A huge overreaction Howard always thought. But thinking back on these events with his What Would Good Howard Do? (WWGHD?™) slogan, maybe he was cutting Vince to the quick more than he thought. Maybe Vince was just responding in kind. 

“Nothing to wear. Right. Yes, sir.” He couldn’t just leave it, there were literal mountains of clothes, surely Vince was being a bit ridiculous. “You’re sure. That you’ve got nothing at all to wear? Nothing at all?”

Vince shakes his head.

Howard flips through one of his mental rolodexes to see the outfits that always seemed to put Vince in a good mood. “What about the Elton John Dodgers Stadium look?” 

“It’s too much.”

“What about your KISS jacket?”

“It’s not enough.”

Howard can’t help it as a bit of annoyance creeps into his voice, why can’t it ever be simple? “Mirrorball suit at the cleaners is it?”

“It’s just not right.” 

“Thank you Vince. That’s incredibly helpful. Why not?”

Vince’s face hardens. “I didn’t ask for your help you know. You asked to come in. You can go. You’re muckin’ up my organization system. You’ve kicked over Mount Jumpsuit-Jaro. You ain’t qualified to offer fashion advice to a menonite clown. Just leave. I’ll get it on my own.”

Howard bites down something snide about Vince’s “organization system.” WWGHD™ ? Things went so much better when he had a system. An example of a successful interaction. Something to work off of. 

Howard sits down, out of hugging distance. 

“I’m sorry that I don’t understand. Can you explain it to me?”

Xxx

Vince hates it when he turns nasty so quickly. He’s really been working on not doing that. And Howard really is trying. 

“I’m sorry Howard. I know you just want ta’ help. I’ll try and explain. But you’re gonna think it’s stupid. I been workin’ on it for ages but I ain’t never said any of it out loud. So it’s not gonna make a lot of sense.”

Xxx

He’d been workin’ on it for ages. What the hell was _ it _? How long had this been going on?

He sits quietly and lets Vince gather his thoughts.

Vince flashes him a shy smile, only at half wattage. “I’m not quite sure where to begin.”

“Why were you crying?”

Xxx

Well that’s the bloody question of the hour wasn’t it? He’d already given the short answer. The long answer was very long, frequently embarrassing, and made him feel very silly and shallow. But Howard is listening. Really listening. He can tell. He can always tell when Howard is only pretending to listen to him as he talks about Gary Numan or Freddie Mercury’s hair in the 70’s and when he is actually paying attention. So he decides to try.

“Have you ever seen me leave the house without my outfit, accessories, makeup, and hair being perfect?” 

Xxx 

Howard scans a different mental rolodex. Surely there was a time where Vince had run down to the corner store for 2am sweets without a full face on. Surely there had been a time when they’d been abducted by a monster before Vince had time to coordinate his accessories with his outfit? But he can’t think of a single one.

“No. I don’t think I have.”

“That’s cause I couldn’t take it, if someone saw me before I had my clothes and face on.”

This sounded absolutely daft to Howard, and Vince must have read it on his face and so he scrambled to elaborate. 

“It’s like. Okay. It’s-” Vince runs his hands through his hair, it starts standing up straight, he always does this when he’s thinking hard. 

Xxx 

He feels like such an idiot. He’s explaining this terribly. Maybe if he tells a story. 

“Do you remember when we got captured by that sentient extension cord?”

Howard nods. “Right. Yes. It was the middle of the night and you had on a flapper dress and drainpipes. And a full face of makeup. That red lipstick was a nice color for you.”

Vince smirks as Howard blushes. 

“Liked that did ya?”

It had been a terrific lipstick. So red it was nearly black, stark against his pale skin. He’d been devastated when he’d accidentally sent it through the wash. It was discontinued because it contained blood or something so he’d never get to wear it again. 

“Get on with the story.” Howard says. His mustache twitching with an embarrassed smile. 

“So I weren’t all prettied when he first nabbed me. But I got a go-bag yeah? Got a good outfit in it that I recycle out every few hours when I get the new Cheekbone. A basic 70 piece makeup kit. Some moisturizer. Shoe glue. Just the essentials, and when I hear trouble and I ain’t got my face on yet I can grab the bag and change while we’re in whatever box or sack the monster sticks us in. They’re always dark and confusin’ like a big maze, but I practiced puttin’ on my makeup while walkin’ in the dark so I can look for you and get ready at the same time. And by the time I find you I’ve got my whole kit on! Genius right?”

“So you understand the concept of a go-bag.” 

“Yeah. Didn’t I just say?”

“And you never thought to bring weapons? Or rope? Or a compass? Or anything useful?” 

They’re getting off track.

“I mean really Vince. You’re that worried about fitting in?”

Now they’re really getting off track.

“It ain’t about that!”

“It seems like it is Vince. That you’re more worried about being seen as cool than you are about surviving.”

“It ain’t that. I mean it is partly that. But it ain’t-”

He rocks back and forth. Clinging to his knees. How can he make Howard understand?

“Alright. So we get kidnapped yeah?”

“Yes.”

“What if I get killed?”

Xxx

This brings Howard up short. Vince always seems so brave. Or stupid. He’d never really given him enough credit. Here he was. Contemplating his mortality. He really shouldn’t assume Vince is shallow just because-

“And I’m in my pyjamas? Or worse, for some reason I’m wearin’ khakis and a fleece?”

And there it is. Of course Vince would be worried about leaving a good looking corpse. 

“So?” Howard asks. 

“Then nobody would know who I was.”

“I think they’d know Vince. They aren’t going to have any trouble identifying you. You have a very distinctive face. Some would say too distinctive.”

“No. Not like my name or all that. But like they wouldn’t know I love Jagger. They wouldn’t know I’m the confuser. They wouldn’t know that you’re my best mate or that I grew up in the jungle, they wouldn’t know anything!” Vince’s voice raises in pitch with each word.

“Heeeey. Little Man. It’s all right.” Howard says.

“I just hate the idea of people not knowing who I am just by looking at me. If I don’t wear somethin’ that says who I am then no one will ever know.”

“That is...quite a lot of pressure to put on an outfit.” 

“I know! That’s why it has to be perfect!” Vince wails. He tips over into Socking Hill, burying his face in neon socks with stripes and cartoon characters. 

Is this why it takes Vince 6 hours to get ready? Does he do this every day?

Howard leans over and reaches out a hand. He pats Vince’s knee twice. This at least gets Vince to sit back up.

“If I could find one outfit. That told everyone exactly who I am. I’d never take it off.” Vince says. “So I keep tryin’ different things. Someday I’ll find it.”

“How long have you been working on this legendary outfit?” Howard asks.

Vince grins. “Oh ages and ages. See after Bryan returned me to civilization I went into a care home yeah? And I grew out of all the clothes I’d been gifted at my rock confirmation, sorta like a catholic confirmation but way better outfits, it was so genius. Marc Bolan gave me a pair a trousers that had eyeshadow woven into the fibers. Imagine that! Your eye gets smudged you just swipe your finger on your trousers and on your eye and you’re all set again. Those guys know how to-”

“Vince.” Howard says.

Vince is very good at devolving into tangents to avoid hard things.

“Right. So. I outgrew all my clothes. So I had to wear hand me downs from other boys at the home. They made me wear khakis and I-it was like I couldn’t breathe. I was walkin’ to school. And caught sight of myself in a shop window and I didn’t know who it was, like some business casual berk had stolen my face. And no one wanted to be my friend. And I got beaten up a lot.“

Xxx

When he was wearing hand me downs sometimes kids would come up to him. Strike up a conversation. But then when he’d respond they’d look at him like he’d tricked them. How could someone in a hoodie be this weird? So it’s almost like he’s signalling what he is. Like he’s a brightly colored snake. Or a tiger. In the jungle you know exactly what everything is. But they wouldn’t be able to tell he’s a Vince just by looking at him, if he didn’t bother to dress up.

Xxx

“But then the khakis died of mysterious causes and I nicked some glitter and studs to start work on an outfit that would make everybody know me and like me. By the time we met, I had my look well in place, and that’s how I got you to talk to me.”

Howard decides to let that last bit slide by without comment but they’ll revisit it. He certainly didn’t befriend Vince because of his _ clothes. _

“But you still got beat up all the time.”

He remembered Vince walking into school on more than one occasion sporting a black eye and a torn shirt. 

“Yeah, but least I was gettin’ beat up for who I was. Not who they thought I was. It’s like, if I don’t look like myself. I don’t feel like myself. And I feel like I’ve gone wrong all day.” Vince purses his lips, trying to think about how best to illustrate his next point. ”Do you remember at the zoo when that bat got stuck in my hair and I wouldn’t let you cut it out and it bit my head and it went all big and all my hair fell out anyway?”

Yes. He remembered. He remembered Vince bursting into tears every time he looked into a mirror. 

“Well it weren’t just cause my hair is my best feature. Or that I looked well hideous without it. It was- it wasn’t me. Like I didn’t feel like myself till I’d grown it out long again. I went so long not feelin’ like myself when I first left the jungle. I couldn’t bear it ever happening again.” 

A lot of things made sense. Vince had nearly walked when he found out he had to wear a uniform at the Zooniverse. Howard had assured him that the Zoo had a very open minded customization policy. It was a lie, but what was Fossil going to say to his little Vincey? Vince had covered his jacket in badges and patches and pins. And been happy.

The hurt look in Vince’s eye when Howard criticized one of his outfits. 

The Lance Dior incident. Howard remembered after their post crimp-off satsuma fight that Vince had insisted on burning the suit he’d shown up to the shop in. Perhaps the dreaded khakis had met a similar fate. 

The moping over lost blouses and broken heels. 

Yes. Lots of things were making sense. 

Xxx

There were parts of this that Vince couldn’t put into words. How he felt like he was wearing his soul on the outside. How much it hurt when someone didn’t like his look. Because they weren’t all winners. He was on just as many worst dressed lists as he was best dressed lists, he just didn’t stick those to the fridge. Sometimes he’d put together a look, and it told a story about who he was, and all he’d hear all night was “What you wearin’ mate?”

How sometimes he couldn’t take bein’ so vulnerable so he just copied someone else. This usually happened after he’d taken a particularly big swing that hadn’t panned out. The goths. The punks. If people didn’t like the real him he’d just be someone else for a while. Even if it did make his chest feel a bit achy. At least it weren’t khakis. 

How whenever he buys or makes a new jumpsuit or necklace he feels like another part of himself is slotting into place. Everything he owns says something about him. He sometimes wishes he could wear all his clothes at once. But he knows he’d just end up looking like Mr. Susan in the mirror world. 

He dresses for himself. So he feels like himself. But he also dresses for other people. So they can know what they’re getting into and decide if he’s worth it before they even talk to him. It’s all so connected. He just wants so badly to be known. Totally known. But he sort of doubts that anyone besides Howard would take the time. So he just tells them everything with an outfit. 

He’s utterly incapable of being anyone but himself. He wants everyone to love him. These two impulses are in a constant war. Usually he’s able to move past it. Find something that says “This is who I am” and “Please please please love me” in equal measure. But not tonight. Tonight he is paralyzed, miserably caught between the two. 

Xxx

“It’s really important my outfit is just right. I ain’t like you Howard.” 

“I care about how I dress Vince, just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean I don’t put thought into it.” He hadn't meant to snap, but the reflex was still there. For years every other word that came out of Vince’s mouth was a jab, but this wasn’t that.

“No. That’s not what I meant. I meant. You have other ways of tellin’ people who you are. You got music. You’re a writer. A photographer. You’re good at talkin’. I’m rubbish. I can’t ever explain nothing.” 

No. Howard thought. You’re amazing at explaining. I just never gave you the chance. Always interrupting. Taking everything as a slight. 

“All I’ve got is what I wear. How I look.” 

“You’re forgetting something.”

Vince looked perplexed. “No, I ain’t. I can count as high as one.” Getting defensive.

“Painting. Vince. You can tell people who you are with your art.”

A huge smile spreads across Vince’s face. “Paintin!” He nearly screams he’s so excited. He is at full wattage. “I ain’t painted in ages! “

Howard misses coming home from jazz club to find Vince splattered in paint, grinning from ear to ear, dying to show Howard a painting he’d done of a bubble elephant or a self portrait where his eyes stretch beyond the confines of his face. 

Vince nods. Growing ever more excited. “Yeah. If I could paint right now, I’d paint you at the zoo, but you wouldn’t have a head.”

“Thanks. Vince.” 

“But you’d be holdin’ a bunch of balloons.”

“Great pink ones, I suppose.” Howard can hear the sour note in his voice but he is trying to mitigate it. Vince doesn’t mean any harm.

“No way. All of them would have your face with different expressions. Howard face balloons! Imagine that! And you’re handin’ me a smilin’ one, but it’s me as a little kid in the outfit I was wearin’ when we first met.”

“You remember what you were wearing when we first met?”

“Course! It’s the reason we became friends. I remember what you was wearin’ too.” 

Xxx

_ The first time Vince Noir met Howard Moon he was crouching near a pond. Talking to some frogs. _

_ Vince had been wearing a very stiff t-shirt that used to be white but had been dyed pink in the wash. He was the only boy in the home who would touch it. He dropped it in with the red wash a few more times to get it to the right shade of pink. He saved up some pocket money to buy some sequins and studs. The t-shirt had trails of iridescent sequins on the front and spiky shoulders. It was his pride and joy. Howard was wearing an ill-fitting forest green cardigan with leather elbow patches. Vince’s fingers were covered in bandages because he didn’t know what a thimble was. And Howards knees were dirty because some bigger boy had shoved him after his threats to come at him like a laser had been less than intimidating. _

_ Howard was tired of being shoved around. He wanted to do some shoving of his own. _

_ The first thing Howard Moon ever said to Vince Noir was “nice shirt.” _

_ Even then Vince had the incredible power to absolutely ignore sarcasm to the point of delsuion. For a long time Howard thought Vince genuinely didn’t understand sarcasm. He did. He just chose to ignore it. _

_ So little Vince Noir had said “Thanks! Genius idn’t it?” _

_ Howard hated being misunderstood. So he told Vince “I was bein’ sarcastic.” _

_ Vince blew right past that as well. “I can make you one if you want.” _

_ “No. I don’t like it.” _

_ “You’re funny,” Vince giggled, “What’s your name?” _

_ “Howard T.J. Moon.” Howard said. The kid in front of him was strange. And had terrible dress sense, but he found himself charmed by the smile that seemed to take over half his face and his easy (or so it seemed at the time) confidence. _

_ “I’m Vince. Vince Noir. RocknRoll Star.” The little boy stood up, he jingled when he moved. He had approximately a million bracelets, bangles, and necklaces on. _

_ Howard casted around for another topic of conversation so he could continue the interaction with the strange boy, but he couldn’t find one. As he jammed his hands in his pockets and was about to turn to leave he spotted a tiny compass hanging from a leather cord nestled amongst the other necklaces. _

_ “Hey. That’s pretty neat.” _

_ Vince touched the compass. “Yeah? Bryan Ferry gave it to me. So I could find my way in the jungle.” _

_ “You’ve explored the jungle?” Howard already nursed an aching yearning to be an explorer. A man of action. _

_ Vince bobbed his head up and down rapidly. Looking for all the world like a bobblehead doll. “I lived there. I explored every day.” _

_ “I’m going to be an explorer some day.” _

_ “That’s amazin’! I’ll come with you.” _

_ Howard had always imagined his adventures being a more solitary pursuit. But he could make room for Vince Noir. When he imagined traveling down the Amazon river, Vince was already in the boat. Like he’d always been there. _

_ “Alright then.” Howard said. _

_ Vince pulled the compass over his head. He handed it to Howard. “You can have this. We’re best mates now.” _

_ Howard couldn’t argue with that. _

Xxx

“See? If hadn’t been wearing the right thing we wouldn’t even be friends.” 

“We still would have been friends Vince.” 

“No, the only reason you came up to me was to compliment my shirt.”

“I was insulting your shirt.”

“No way. That was a great shirt. You loved it. Asked me to make you one too.”

He couldn’t afford to get sidetracked.

“We became friends because you were funny and strange. Not because of what you were wearin'.”

“No. I gave you my compass necklace, then you had to hang out with me until I grew on you.” 

“I would have taken any excuse to hang out with you Vince. I thought any moment you were going to find someone better and leave me.”

He doesn't say that he still sometimes worries about that. Vince is an open book. He shares his soul with everyone. Sometimes it was hard to feel special when he just gave himself away to everyone who looked at him. Howard was private. He obfuscated. He only shared his true self with those who were willing to take the time. Like Vince. 

“No way! I’d never leave ya!” 

Howard smiles at the assertion. The reassurance. But this isn’t about him and his fears. 

“No matter what you wear Vince. I’ll always know who you are. So just...just dress like you want. Tell em who you are and if they don’t like it they can go hang, yeah? They say word one against a jumpsuit or boot and I’ll be all over them like a flannel. And if an outfit isn't doing it. Then maybe a painting will."

Vince smiles. “Thanks Howard. I ain’t never really explained it all before. Why it all matters to me so much.”

Howard knows it’s coming and so he’s able to brace himself for Vince’s impending hug. And after a moment, he wraps his arms around Vince.

He closes his eyes. Smelling the soft coconut of Vince’s hair. He opens them again and sees his best aggressive muffin rollneck smeared with eye makeup and peeking out of a pile of scarves.

“Is that my shirt?”

He feels Vince giggling against his shoulder.

“Jokes on you sir, now you have to wear it.”

“Howaaaaaaard!” Vince playfully wails.

They both descend into giggles and end up on the floor. They’re about to stop laughing when Machu Poncho collapses and buries Howard. This sends Vince absolutely into the stratosphere laughing. But it also gives him an idea.

“I know what I want to wear.” 

This sobers Howard up rather quickly. “Ah. Yes. Well good. You’ll be heading to the club soon then?”

“Nah. I don’t think so. Maybe we can hang out? If you ain’t got nuffin’ on?”

So Vince gets ready for their big night in. His old brown and white poncho. Which is how Howard knows he is off his tits on happiness. His fuzziest socks. Which is how Howard knows he wants to snuggle. He hasn’t quite put together what the red lipstick signifies, but he’s quite interested to find out. 

They scale Mount Ever-vest to leave Vince’s closet room. They watch _ Colobus the Crab _ reruns while Vince roughs out a sketch of his balloon painting. Hours later Vince falls asleep curled up against Howard.

Howard is overwhelmed with affection for the longhaired muppet half in his lap. 

“Love you little man.” 

Howard presses a kiss to Vince’s temple and he catches Vince smiling. 

“Oh you little faker.” 

“Love you too Howard.”

Then he finds out what the red lipstick was all about.


End file.
